Page 18 of Demon Loved
As soon as he turned onto Rich Street, however, he realized that most of the homes here were quite modest, small bungalows of only one story, with the occasional clapboard farmhouse similar to the home where Elena had grown up to give some variety to the neighborhood’s architecture.
This street was much quieter than the main thoroughfare, of course, and he knew he must look terribly suspicious. No foot traffic to shield him, and several of the people who passed in their cars sent him wary glances, as though they could tell he had no business there.
Well, that was what the sketchbook was for.
He opened it up and commenced composing a quick drawing of the house before him, an attractive bungalow with a large front porch and cheerful roses blooming in various shades along the front walk. Since he hadn’t spied any cars in the driveway or any other signs of life, he guessed the people who lived there must be away for the day, most likely at work or school or engaging in whatever activities might occupy them during the daylight hours.
And then he heard Brianna’s incredulous voice. “Bill?”
Startled, he looked up from his sketch to see her approaching with a bulky brown paper–wrapped parcel under one arm. Based on its size and shape, he guessed it must be a painting of some sort, perhaps one of the pieces from the gallery where she was supposed to be working this afternoon.
However, the presence of a painting didn’t explain why she was here rather than safely tucked away at the gallery.
“Hello, Bree,” he said calmly, hoping he didn’t sound as rattled as he felt. “What brings you here?”
Although she was wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes from the bright, sunny afternoon, he could still see the way her brows drew together. “I might ask you the same thing.”
Immediately, he held up the sketchbook, gladder than ever that he’d come up with the simple subterfuge to explain why he was so off the beaten path. “I enjoy sketching some of the houses and buildings I see during my travels. It didn’t appear as if anyone was home, so I didn’t see the harm in making a drawing of this one.”
She moved a little closer — not too close, because the bulky canvas she carried prevented her from doing so — but enough so she could see the drawing he’d begun a few minutes earlier. “That’s really good,” she said, sounding almost surprised.
Perhaps some men would have taken umbrage at the intimation that she didn’t believe he could create a worthwhile drawing. Belshegar, on the other hand, was only pleased that she thought it wasn’t dreadful.
“It is?”
She shifted her burden to the other arm. “You’ve really captured the charm of the house.”
“Let me help you with that — ” he began, reaching with his free hand to take the canvas, but she only shook her head.
“No, it’s fine. I need to drop it off at Helen Doyle’s house anyway.”
“It’s a painting from the gallery?”
Brianna nodded. “Yes. She bought it a week ago but wanted it reframed, and it just came in today. I guess she’s having the members of the historical preservation society over for tea later this afternoon, so when she heard it was ready, she insisted that I bring it over right away so she could hang it above her fireplace.”
Quite a demanding customer. Belshegar wondered if this Ms. Doyle was also a member of the McAllister clan, or simply a civilian who’d lived here for decades.
Not that he could ask, of course.
“Well, then, I won’t keep you,” he said, and couldn’t help adding, “although I’d be happy to carry the painting the rest of the way.”
Even though Brianna had declined his offer of help only a moment earlier, now she looked almost hopeful. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” he replied at once. “You can take my sketchbook, if that makes you feel better.”
She chuckled. “It’s a deal.”
He closed the book and handed it over to her, and she gave him the painting. It was quite heavy, and he wondered at Ms. Doyle for demanding that Brianna drop everything to bring it to her home.
For him, of course, the burden was nothing at all, and he followed Bree to a house at the end of the street, definitely the largest on the block. It was also farmhouse in style, but with an extensive wraparound porch and leaded glass windows flanking the sturdy oak front door.
Could it be that Ms. Doyle might be the clan’s prima?
Brianna knocked, and a moment later, a short, rounded woman with close-cut ginger hair opened the door. Belshegar couldn’t sense anything magical about her at all, which told him she was no prima, but merely a civilian accustomed to getting her own way.
In fact, not only did she take his presence in stride — perhaps she thought he also worked at the gallery — but she bustled him into the living room, and before he knew exactly what was happening, he had a nail in one hand and a hammer in the other, and was pounding in the nail so the picture could be hung.
He had to admit it was quite an impressive piece, a rendering of a lazy summer river with cottonwoods flanking it on either side and a cloud-dotted sky above. The frame was wide and made of what he thought was oak, the same shade as the mantel that topped the stone fireplace and the furniture that accented the room.
